


Funfetti

by DollyPop



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Birthday Cake, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:17:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6968587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How was it possible to be an actual God and fuck up a baked good?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Funfetti

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TigerMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerMoon/gifts).



“What the hell, you drank all the milk again,” Spirit said, lifting up a brow and holding up the empty carton upside-down as though to further punctuate his point. The last thing he looked was amused, his usual suit-jacket off, his expression contorted into a deadpan that could only be mastered after years of dealing with a Meister the likes of Franken Stein. “This is the seventh time this week.”

“That’s not too bad-“ Death began, turning and holding up his hands in the universal gesture for peace only to be cut off.

“It’s Tuesday.”

Death winced. “That’s. . .not too bad-“

“Where is it going?” Spirit asked, chucking the plastic container into the bin and folding his arms.

“Uh-“

“I think the Deathmart cashier knows me by name. And he’s usually comatose most of the time.”

“Spirit-“

This time, there was no cut off. It was only Death stopping himself whilst expecting one and the God nearly sighed at the fact that Spirit was only looking at him expectantly.

How was he supposed to tell his. . .boyfriend? partner? significant other? bed warmer? That he had used up seven damn cartons of milk trying to, and failing miserably at, making a birthday cake.

Funfetti had become his own personal hell. And he supposed all the better since it was a surprise for that damn party Marie insisted they all throw Spirit because he was turning the big 4-0 and no one in their sort of professions ever expected to last past 30, let alone a decade beyond that.

Yes, it was a big occasion, but why did they saddle him of all people with that damn cake?

It had gone through every deformation possible. Burned, multiple times. Bubbling as though it were boiling in the oven. So rock hard he could name it and declare it a Death Scythe in its own right. So poorly undercooked it would be a crime against Health Codes to ever even dream of calling it a cake. Accidentally salty instead of sweet. Mixed with eggshells. So dry it actually huffed a breath of dust when he went to move it from the oven.

And those were just the test runs.

Spirit’s damn surprise party was tomorrow and he was cakeless.

How was it possible to be an actual God and fuck up a baked good?

“I. . .drank it,” Death commented, trying to pull his goofy voice as though to soften Spirit’s skepticism.

Spirit squinted at him, somehow managing to hitch his eyebrow up higher. They’d been living together for years and never had Death drank so much milk.

He didn’t even like milk.

“Yeah, okay,” Spirit replied, shaking his head.

“. . .Okay. Blair kept coming around and she said she didn’t want to see you because she’s still mad you stepped on her tail.”

Spirit winced and the lie seemed to do the trick. “I told her I was sorr-“

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you!” Death butted in quickly, so thankful that he had managed to make up a convincing lie.

“I-“

“So you better get more milk, huh?”

Spirit stared at his partner for a few seconds too long before he sighed, rolling his eyes and turning around to head to the door, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a mockery of what Death had just said before his voice rang out more clearly. “Do we need anything else?” Spirit asked from the living room, and Death took the moment to survey the poor kitchen he had depleted.

“Sugar.”

“Hm?”

“No, not you. We need sugar.”

“Oh! Alright,” Spirit said, feeling so domestic all of a sudden. “’Suppose you don’t wanna go to the neighbors?”

This time, Death rolled his eyes, already contemplating heading off to a bakery on the other side of town for a rush delivery of a custom made cake.

Fuck Funfetti. Funfetti was the farthest thing from fun.

As Spirit shut the door behind him, Death sighed.

The things he did for love.


End file.
